Spawn with the Wind by Elise Sax

Author:Elise Sax [sax, elise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elise Sax
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Parking my car in the lot, I got out and looked around. The funeral parlor looked the same as it ever did. It was a squat, sprawling building with calming music piped outside through a speaker over the front door. There were only three cars in the parking lot. Mine, a Cadillac parked the furthest from the front door, and a Honda in one of the six disabled spots.

I recognized the Honda. It belonged to old Mr. Brown, who lived three doors down from me. I stopped him as he was getting out of his car.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m struggling to get out of this car. I paid a fortune for these knees, and they don’t work for shit.”

“No, not that,” I said. “You’re parked in a handicapped spot, but you don’t have a placard. You’re not handicapped.”

“What the hell are you getting at, woman?” he spat at me. “I’m older than you, you know. I’m older than God. My bones are made out of sawdust at this point. It takes me an hour and a half to pee. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in thirty years. Something came out of my ear the other day that would put hair on your chest if you had seen it. Do you understand me?”

“I understand that you don’t have a placard,” I said.

“Because my doctor won’t give the letter for the DMV. He says I’m fine. He only says that because he’s older than I am. His stethoscope is so old that it was carved out of stone.”

“Everyone’s a complainer,” I said. “Fine. Park in the disabled spot. Break the law. Thumb your nose at society.”

“Why are you giving me grief, woman?”

“Because I need your help. I need a beard.”

“You don’t need a beard, Ruth. You’ve already got one.”

“Be quiet and listen. I need you to pretend that we’re married, and you need to get a plot here.”

“Married to you?” he asked and laughed. “You’re not exactly my type.”

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

“Barely!”

“That’s not important right now. I’m undercover. I’m spying. Don’t ask me more about it.”

“Help me up,” he grumbled. He grabbed hold of my arm, and I heaved him out of the car. “I’m not going to say I’m looking for a plot. I’ve had a plot since 1945. I got it for serving in the war. I just came to talk about my coffin. I ordered a plain pine box, but now I think I need to upgrade. Maybe one of those cushioned ones with silk lining would be more comfortable since I’m going to lie in it for eternity.”

“Fine,” I said. “You’re looking for a new coffin. That will work for my purposes.”

He shut his car door and locked it. “And I’m not saying you’re my wife. I have a reputation to uphold, you know. I dated Rita Hayworth back in the day. So, you’re my cousin Ruth from Oklahoma. I never liked her, either.”

“No way you dated Rita Hayworth. That’s pretty much the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” I said, as we headed to the front door.

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